An Apple a Day
by Rae Himura
Summary: "It was, simply put, a cathedral. A temple devoted not to a product line, but to a way of life ..." The Mac store has always been a kind of mecca for Conrad, but has a year among the undead really changed things? ConWorth-y.


**So then there was this bit of un-beta'd word-vomit. Not part of the "Firsts" series, just a stand alone bit of procrastination I was working on while I should have been beta-ing the next chapter of Dead of Night. Yeah, yeah, you can all string me up for it. XP**

Inspired by my own recent visit to an Apple store with a href="**.net/u/489585/"**** Demyrie/a (as a PC user, it was an interesting experience), and the way my town seems to completely shut down by eight pm. In the summer, it's not even dark yet! Yeah, they live in a city so more things might be open later, but just go with me on this one, ok?**

For you Mac people, please don't be offended by my flippant descriptions of your lifestyle. It's all in good fun, and I love you just like I love Connie.

For the rest of you, please catch that it is a flippant description, and that I don't actually think anyone worships at the alter of Apple. Though you should all really check out a Mac store sometime; it's really quite … amazing. Yeah, let's stick with that. *tamps down on her inner Worth voice*

Also, apparently it's ConWorth week. So, yay for that!

These guys belong to the lovely and talented Tessa Stone. Go check it out a href=".com"NOW!/a

Fall and winter were vamp seasons, for so many reasons. Chief among Conrad's – and not many others' – was the convergence of nightfall and the operating hours of the Mac store.

For half the year, the hours that his favorite spots were open also happened to be the hours he couldn't go outside without risking immolation. That left the one good coffee shop, a host of bars and a vast array of establishments he really didn't want to think about, even after weeks of frequenting Worth's office. Yeah, he could (and did) get the essentials online. But it was never the same, especially when most of these places were a culture unto themselves and had formed a large part of his social life before. And none could compare to the Mac store.

It had been late Fall already when Conrad had been turned, so he hadn't had to think much about the daylight hours issue. When he finally emerged from the initial misery and "oh-god-what-the-fuck-just-happened," he'd gotten an e-mail about some new piece of tech that Apple had released. He didn't even read it, just put on the trendiest thing he owned that would still cover his scars, spent an extra twenty minutes doing his hair by feel and headed over to the local mall.

It was, maybe, the first good thing to happen to him since he knocked on the door of one Hanna Falk Cross – maybe the second; the jury was still out on the whole "not dying" thing. He'd felt positively normal again, humming along to the music on his iPhone and practically bouncing with each step. The mall was crowded, even this late on a weekday, but Conrad was good at being invisible and not just in mirrors – after all, he'd been practicing his whole life.

His bounce faded when he remembered his fang, realizing it showed when he smiled too large or chewed on his lip. But lost in that anonymous crowd, shuffling past stores stuffed with sparkling pink preteen gear and over-sized suburban gangster labels, he really felt no more nervous than he ever was. This was the icon of normal, polite, consumer society. This had always been his domain, a world he understand with rules he knew, and even if he hadn't exactly fit in before he lost his heartbeat, he felt more comfortable here than he ever could with a zombie, a werewolf and a kid who smelled like death.

Conrad stopped to browse at Express, peeked in the window at Lacoste and even slowed down in front of a dark little dungeon of a goth store spilling shrieking death metal from its depths. He thought about it for at least three seconds; it did seem appropriate now. But he hadn't even come to a full stop before a sinewy tank of a a kid skulked out, half his face covered in metal and almost as much of his body covered in tats. His belt was made of a string of fake bullet casings, his boot looked like they came from a war and he met Conrad's eyes just about the same second the vamp started moving again. Quickly.

He wondered briefly what it said about the guy that he managed to scare off someone who was supposed to _eat _him, then decided that he would probably take it as a huge compliment.

Hitching his messenger bag higher on his shoulder, Conrad hurried around the corner and there it was. You could see it from the other end of the hall, it's unusual architecture shining like a beacon of sanity from between the Wet Seal and the Baby Gap.

The walls and ceiling were all covered in smooth burnished silver, branded in the front with a bright white apple symbol. The actual air space of the store was wider and taller than the others around it, the surfaces pushed back and up, arching gently into rounded corners. The lighting was pure white, but recessed so it was more a gentle accent than a blinding overhead florescent. Where other stores were packed with shelves and bins, the space was empty and open, save for a low shelf running along the walls and a low table in the center. You could see the entire space, see all the costumers milling around with the many smiling 'geniuses' ready to help you with even the simplest problems. Apple products were arranged simply and lovingly along the shelf, laid out evenly and just calling to your curious fingers.

The whole place was designed just like any other apple product: it was open, smooth and, most importantly, safe. It made you feel like there was absolutely no risk involved in admitting that you didn't know how, or you hadn't heard. Because they made things user-friendly, functioning, easy. Because they were there to hold your hand, to show you the way, to enlighten you.

It was, simply put, a cathedral. A temple devoted not to a product line, but to a way of life that promised convenience and safety and the newest, edgiest thing. Everything modern society, and Conrad, valued most.

Walking into the store was like crossing the border back into his native country: everyone spoke his native language, practiced his native customs. Everything made sense. In a way fangs and cravings and blood bags never would.

He stood for a moment on the threshold, soaking in the clean, calm atmosphere. This was the farthest place on earth he could get from the nightmare of Worth's filthy rat-hole of an office, the icon of his new life. Er, undeath.

Conrad smiled, closed-mouthed, at the employee that approached. She was a tiny cute brunette, all smiles and gentle eyes, but Conrad politely waved her off. He couldn't really afford any close scrutiny. But it didn't really matter, he was just here to browse anyway. He spent half an hour checking out the shiny new products: fiddling with the next generation iPod, listening to someone explain the OS X updates and positively drooling over the sleek lines of the new Magic Trackpad.

By the end he was humming again, even without his headphones in, barely containing his smile (and his fang). He grabbed the replacement charger he needed and made polite, barely nervous conversation with the bald guy at the register, not even noticing the small slice of mirrored surface on the display behind him. Thankfully, neither did anyone else.

He thanked the guy for his time, took his bag, silently promised himself to come back for the Trackpad and walked out with the echo of a long-gone pulse in his ears.

Conrad went back as often as he could justify – not enough to be some kind of freak that just hung around for no reason, but he definitely took every opportunity to go in person instead of ordering online. They announced the iPad a few days before his last visit of the season. It came out well after the daylight hours lengthened. Conrad hated having to order it online, missed the experience of picking it up in person on the first day (and being seen there picking it up on the first day). But he certainly didn't want to wait through the summer months before he got one.

And that was really when it hit him, the long nocturnal months ahead of him. Where did he go that was open this late? He had the coffee shop, the one coffee shop that Worth now occasionally dropped by to pester him. And Worth's … well, things had certainly gotten less _strictly_ horrible at Worth's. At least since they'd started their little "arrangement," the doctor didn't make it his personal mission to make Conrad miserable all the time. Just three-fourths of the time. Or any time when some part of Conrad wasn't actually _in_ Worth (and he was still having a hard time admitting it wasn't always his fang).

But that was it. That was the extent of his social life until the Fall Equinox. Even the occasional outing with his friends from college, the traditional safe staple of his social calender, was hard to arrange now that he had to explain the late hour or how he couldn't eat. It was safer just to generally avoid contact with anyone who didn't know about his condition. If only that were an option with his mother.

Just thinking about it, though – about seeing no one but Aimee at the coffee shop who thinks Conrad is a total freak and Worth who _is_ a total freak – Conrad started to panic. To feel claustrophobic in an apartment that had never been anything other than a safe haven from the pressures of the outside world. It's not like he was a social butterfly, and he spent a great deal of energy avoiding unnecessary and stressful social interaction. But he wasn't a hermit. And living like one, especially because of this condition, just made him feel like he was actually _part_ of this freak show he'd been forcefully introduced to.

Then Hanna, with surprisingly good timing, crashed into his life and _insisted_ that Conrad meet him and Giuseppe at this bar near his place, because it had been WAY too long since they'd hung out and what was he up to anyway and they all just needed a "guys night" and this place was perfect because it was the kind of place that didn't ask questions so they could even spike a drink for Conrad and he wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing his fangs and – In the end, Conrad knew he was going to go, even if he was mildly concerned this was a prelude to getting caught up in another one of Hanna's cases, so he figured he'd save himself the trouble and just agree.

As it turns out, it actually was just about "guys night." Hanna and his zombie partner had just finished a case, and from the looks they shared when they mentioned it, it hadn't gone well. Hanna's response to this was apparently to get just a bit plastered on drinks with names like Green Dinosaur, Test Tube Baby and Blushin' Russian Frozen Citrus Glow Rainbow Connection. After a few of these, he ordered one called a Zombie and giggled about it for five minutes straight.

Even Conrad tried a few things (with a helpful addition from a blood bag in his jacket pocket, and only after a lot of encouragement from a tipsy Hanna). After a few he got bold, ordered something he heard from the bar called a Smoker's Cough, and tried to ignore the _look_ he got from Hanna.

It had been a really fun night, he had to admit, as he watched Hanna stumble home plastered to the zombie's side for support. And when the redhead called him for a repeat a few weeks later, he didn't hesitate. It's not like he would have gotten out of it anyway.

So it became a semi-regular thing. They didn't always drink, but Conrad always appreciated the "don't ask, don't tell" attitude of the paces they visited. And Hanna was pretty good company when he wasn't dragging you into fights with ghosts or trolls. Sometimes the sunny redhead even managed to drag Worth along, which was weird, but good in an entirely different way. And it gave Conrad something to look forward to as the temperatures waxed higher.

He was actually working on a commission when he realized that the Equinox was coming up. He was a little shocked, and a little proud, to discover that he hadn't been obsessing over the seasons. A little less proud to discover that he hadn't realized when August slipped into September. He'd always had a problem keeping track of time when he worked, often had to set reminders on his laptop to keep track of the day of the week. Now that he lived on a nightly schedule, it was even harder to keep track of time.

Sometimes it felt like the world was marching on around him to a completely different pace, while he toiled away behind blackout curtains. He tried not to wonder if that's what all vampires felt like, if it only got worse with the passage of centuries. He never thought about centuries anymore.

But he did think about seasons. And the calendar on his Mac was telling him that Fall was quickly approaching. Now that he thought about it, the nights had been getting longer, starting earlier. Any day now he'd be able to go out at normal human hours again.

Two weeks later, Worth snapped the cords off his headphones during their … strenuous activities, and he had the perfect excuse. He just had to pray Worth wouldn't drop by on one of his random, surprise "disrupt Conrad's life as much as possible" crusades that night. Hell, if there really was anyone up there listening, why wouldn't they give equal consideration to the walking dead?

Conrad lingered over his clothing choices. He didn't have old wounds to cover anymore, but the liquid paper color of his skin and his newly symmetrical fangs felt awfully noticeable. Hanna had mentioned some trick about using the blood he drank to do things like fake a heartbeat or flush his skin. But, apparently, those were the kinds of things one's sire was supposed to teach you. And Hanna knew a lot more about how to kill a vampire than he did about how to be a competent one.

So he just put on something red to downplay his pallor, with long sleeves because they made him feel comfortable, even though the weather didn't entirely warrant it yet. It's not like he'd get hot. There wasn't much he could do about the fangs, just not smile and try to be subtle when he talked. It worked in the dimly lit bars he visited with Hanna, but it had been a while since he'd had to pass in normal public.

The sun went down at seven. Conrad waited until the dull ache behind his eyes faded completely before he set out. It was a beautiful night, with a sweet cool breeze, and that meant the sidewalks were crowded. He found himself hunching his shoulders and tugging at his sleeves sporadically. By the time he made it to the mall's entrance, his arms were wrapped tight around his midsection and his eyes were glued to the ground.

Under the brilliant florescent flicker of the mall lights, Conrad took a deep breath and tried to relax. This was his domain, right? He knew the rules here. But he also knew that craving blood was against those rules. He felt eyes on him as he shuffled through the packed halls. A group of fake-baked teens with bottle-blond highlights fell to whispers as he passed. A tight-laced, equally tight-faced soccer mom watched him with cold eyes and a hand on her son's shoulder. A broad-shouldered man in a business suit turned his head to peer at him as he shuffled past.

Conrad was sure he was imagining it; he wasn't that obvious. But he felt marked, like there was a glowing sign above his head proclaiming his unnatural status. A wolf among the herd, but with none of the self-assured stealth or power.

He almost sighed with relief when the Mac store came into sight. There, at least, he knew he could relax. Those were his people, who understood that Apple represented not items but a lifestyle, and the store was their mecca. If there was anywhere left in the entire world that Conrad could feel normal, it was here.

"Welcome. How can I help you?" A perky blond with a manic smile popped in front of him as soon as he entered.

"Um, I'm fine. Thanks," he muttered, face tilted away. "Just browsing." He smiled, just a faint close-lipped flicker, before moving past her.

There were people there – it seemed just as busy as always – but the whole place was so open. The smooth silver walls, the clean white lights, the uncluttered space. He felt … exposed. There was no way to hide, nowhere that wasn't illuminated and filled with watchful eyes.

Conrad browsed along the shelf nervously, barely taking in the updated features of the new iPod as he fiddled with it. His eyes kept darting to the people around him. He found himself running his tongue over his fangs compulsively, and he had to bite down and grind his teeth to stop himself. He checked out some of the accessories for the iPad. But one of the free "geniuses" had spotted him and was watching him like a hawk, just waiting for an opportunity to swoop in and take care of him.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should come back sometime when it was less, or more, crowded. He found the headphones quickly, bouncing in place as he waited for the two people in line in front of him to finish. When he finally got up to the front of the line, Conrad tossed the headphones on the counter without looking at the guy behind it and reached into his bag to get his wallet.

That's when he caught sight of a floating pair of thick-rimmed glasses in the reflective surface on the advertisement behind the register.

"A-actually, you know what, forget it," Conrad stuttered, stumbling back with a horrified expression. "I just remembered I, um, I … left my wallet. In my apartment. How stupid of me. I'll just have to – to come back."

He didn't actually run, but the effect was pretty much the same. He's surprised they didn't send the guys in white coats after him. Or at least stop him and ask to search his bag. He was the very definition of suspicious behavior.

Conrad skittered out of the mall, and was several streets away before he realized he was heading to Worth's. _Great._ When had that become instinct?

He went anyway, navigating the streets of the scummy neighborhood with a casualness that probably spelled danger for someone with the street smarts of the average 50s housewife. But it was hard to stay scared of a place when you visited at least weekly, no matter how dank and sketchy.

Worth barely looked up when Conrad came in, just got right to insulting him around the stub of a cigarette between his teeth. "Nice sweater, fagarella. They havin' a sale at th'Limited?"

Conrad rolled his eyes, amazed that after all this time, he still expected Worth to act like a human being. "Very funny. How do you even know the name of a women's clothing store? Have you ever even been to a mall?"

The doctor snorted, still not looking up from whatever (illegal-looking) form he was bent over. "Not 'f I c'n help it. I ain't some fuckin' yuppie mall-rat like someone 'ere."

Conrad sighed and let loose a faint smile, not caring that it flashed his fangs. He felt the tension slowly unwind from his spine. "Maybe if you went to one, you could buy some clothes that didn't look like you stole them from a diseased hooker in the '70s."

"Hey, don' fuckin' insult th' coat." Worth snapped, glaring up at Conrad with a ridiculously serious expression. And then, true to form, it eased into a lecherous smirk. "'Sides, ya know ya love it."

Conrad laughed, almost surprised to find that it was genuine. He dropped into the spindly little chair he'd insisted Worth put in front of his desk – mostly because he's been tired of standing around awkwardly while they argued, which seemed to be their unique brand of foreplay. His shoulders dropped, he let out a needless breath and he let his head roll back.

Here in this grimy office, he might have to worry about Worth being a dick or about catching some immortality-resistant disease, but he certainly didn't feel exposed to prying eyes. He highly doubted any judging eyes ever wandered into this neighborhood, much less down this particular alley. Worth, Hanna and the zombie, even Lamont and Toni, knew about his condition and honestly couldn't care less. It sounded weird to say it, even to himself, but he could go a whole night with any of them and never once feel abnormal.

They were the biggest collection of freaks this side of the Atlantic. And when he was around them, he felt … at home.

And that was one sentiment he knew better than to share with Worth. He laughed to himself anyway, rolling his head to stare at the doctor with a wry little smile.

Worth eyed him back with a look that very clearly questioned his sanity, before flicking the stub of his cigarette away and leaning over the desk.

"Ya just here ta chit-chat," he growled, lips curling into smirk, "or did'ja come 'ere fer a bite?"

Conrad grinned back at the dark, hungry flicker in Worth's eyes and leaned up to meet him.


End file.
